


fever dream

by Chokingonholywater



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pining, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and jeremy is sick as hell, michael is so so so sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:56:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13145208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chokingonholywater/pseuds/Chokingonholywater
Summary: If Jeremy was being honest, there was nothing worse than being sick. Sure, you got to stay home from school, but you were miserable - sick and alone with only crappy afternoon tv to keep you company. Alone, that is, if you didn't have a best friend looking out for you.





	fever dream

There was, in Jeremy's opinion, nothing worse than being sick. Everything about it was awful; it was like every part of your body simultaneously decided to have a mutiny against you. Nothing worked like it was supposed to, and all you could do was lay in bed and wait it out. 

A violent cough wracked Jeremy's body, and he tried his best to contain it to the crook of his elbow. After nearly hacking up a lung, Jeremy fought to get his breathing back to normal. It took a few breaths, but he did it - and then, immediately, he sneezed. 

He just couldn't catch a break! 

Groaning, Jeremy reached for a tissue to get the snot off of his face. He winced slightly as blew into the tissue; he'd been sick for long enough that his nose was bright red and raw, and every touch hurt like a fresh brush burn.  

He did his best to clear out his nose (a truly impossible task), then lazily dropped the crumpled tissue over the edge of his bed. He'd given up with his garbage can four days ago, and his floor was covered with the balled up remains of the last two tissue boxes he'd emptied. The copious mountains of white, mucus covered paper balls coated Jeremy's floor - not that it mattered, because he hadn't gotten out of bed all day. 

Jeremy felt another cough tickling the back of his throat and he sighed, raising a hand to his mouth to cover the cough. He was so, so tired, and he couldn't help but curse whoever at school had gotten him sick as he wheezed into the back of his hand. When the spasms in his lungs finally subsided, he took a slow breath and closed his eyes. 

He was absolutely miserable. 

His chest ached from coughing, his nose hurt, he could hardly take a breath without breaking out into choking gasps - he could hardly take a breath at  _all_  through his nose. He'd been laying in bed alone for days, alternating between sleeping and lazily flipping through channels on the tv.

His dad had stayed home the first day that Jeremy was sick, but Jeremy could tell that he really needed to go to work, and so, with a cough, he'd assured him that he'd be fine on his own. 

And that was true, Jeremy figured, reaching for the remote. He was fine, pretty much, if incredibly bored, slightly lonely, and - oh right - possibly dying of sickness in his bed. 

Okay, maybe that was a little bit dramatic, but he did wish someone was there to keep him company, and it felt like he might as well be dying. He could hardly move he was so exhausted - even reaching for the remote was a massive effort. 

"Oh, come on," Jeremy muttered, reaching his hand towards the remote. 

It had somehow ended up just outside of his reach, no matter how hard he tried to stretch his arm must a _little_ farther. He couldn't even will himself to sit up to get it.

Instead, he dropped his arm and sank back into bed with a sigh. It wasn't like there'd be anything on tv at this hour, anyways, besides weird kids cartoons and reruns of Judge Judy. 

 He glanced briefly at the pile of homework on his desk. His dad had been stopping by the school to pick it up for him, depositing it on his desk each day along with a gentle ruffle of Jeremy's hair or a new box of tissues. He appreciated the gestures, even if he was usually too drugged up or sleepy to do more than smile blearily 

Now though, he was mostly awake (his cough syrup had worn off, and he'd taken some more not too long ago) so he saw how much homework had really accumulated. He knew he should start it, but he was just so  _tired_. He felt crappy enough that he could convince himself avoiding the work was warranted, so he turned his head and pulled the blankets up towards him, snuggling in to drift back to sleep. He felt the cough syrup starting to work, and soon he was drowsy, then sleepy, and then asleep.

He dreamed of nothing at first, only brief snatches of reality working their way into his subconscious. Mostly, he drifted through a pale, empty fog, the cough syrup manifesting as a dripping white blankness.

It was peaceful and quiet, and the fog felt comfortably warm in his mind. He walked around without purpose, ambling through the mist until suddenly, he was falling down, down, down.

He found himself back in his bed, but he was still asleep, dreaming.

He dreamed of his mom then, of the last time he'd seen her. She kissed his head softly and he watched as she turned and walked out a door to nowhere, unable to speak or move to stop her. The door closed behind her and Jeremy suddenly felt so, so alone. The fog around him was suffocating now, the sheets of his bed ensnaring his legs. 

He flailed in his sleep, turning restlessly. His breathing was growing heavy, his heart rate rising.

In his dream, he stumbled out of bed. When he turned around, the bed was gone, and everything had gone dark. 

Suddenly, it was eerily quiet, too - or had it always been this quiet? Jeremy didn't know. What he  _did_ know was that something was wrong, something was horribly wrong, there was something in the dark, something out there in the choking fog, chasing, moving —

Jeremy was starting to hyperventilate now, his hands shaking. A cold sweat dripped down his neck and he shivered. He didn't know if it was worse to stay where he was or try to get away from whatever was hiding here. 

Cautiously, he decided to try to navigate the gloom. Walking slowly, he move forwards, trying to see anything in the dark. His eyes were useless; they were drowning in the sheer blackness around him, not a speck of light to be found. Each step echoed loudly, each breath was a hurricane gust in his ears. The sound of his heart beating was like thunder in his ears. 

Slowly, step by step, he inched forward in the gloom. The sense of fear was overwhelming, and his eyes were beginning to play tricks on him. He could've sworn that he'd caught a flash of something moving over to his right — no, to his left — no, right in front of him!

Jeremy squeezed his eyes tight, fighting the panic that was clawing up his throat. Suddenly, he was certain that whatever was in this gloomy fog with him was right behind him.

Jeremy ran.

In his bed, he tossed and turned frantically, muttering to himself. His brows were creased heavily, eyes screwed shut tight. 

In the dream, he sped up, running blindly in the darkness, terrified of whatever eldritch horror was chasing after him. He couldn't stop, even though he could feel his lungs about to give out, could feel his legs ready to collapse under him. It got harder and harder to run, like he was moving through cement as it dried. 

He fought against it, pushing himself harder, willing his body to cooperate for just one more step. He could feel his doom breathing down his neck, a sense of dread filling his gut. The knowledge of that thing behind him propelled him forward, faster, faster,  _faster, fasterfasterfaster—_

And then he tripped.

His feet stuck in place for too long, and suddenly Jeremy was toppling to the ground. He felt his heart drop, but he knew it was too late. Whatever was chasing him would be on him in seconds. He braced for impact - breathe in, breathe out - and waited. 

 He held his breath, squeezed his eyes closed, but nothing happened. 

Instead, a bright light suddenly flooded the fog. He heard a voice, muffled through the white light, calling him. Jeremy felt reality swimming back into focus, and relief flooded his gut. He was safe then, from whatever had been behind him. Someone had saved him. 

"Jeremy," the voice repeated, echoing in the misty light. "Come on, dude."

As he blearily blinked open his eyes, Jeremy drank in the sight in front of him.

"Michael," he whisper breathlessly. "You saved me." He reached out a hand and limply patted Michael's arm, still half asleep. 

Michael chuckled. "Yeah, buddy, sure I did," he said quietly. Jeremy was quasi asleep still, and it was pretty cute. He seemed pretty spaced out, though, and Michael was worried. He reached out a hand and laid it gently on Jeremy's forehead. 

"Holy shit, you're burning up, Jer," Michael muttered. He went to pull his hand away, but Jeremy reached up -surprisingly quickly, for someone who looked totally out of it - and held it there. His blue eyes were wide, one clammy hand on top of Michael's own. 

"Where are you going?" he asked, voice soft. Sleep still hung heavy to him, whatever medicine he'd taken making him drowsy and vulnerable.

Michael felt his insides go soft. 

"I was just gonna get you some aspirin."

Jeremy seemed to consider his answer, weighing the options. "Don't be gone long," he said, releasing Michael's hand. 

Michael shook his head and slipped out of the room. He paused outside the door to take a breath, leaning against the wall. 

"Come on, Mell, get it together!" he muttered to himself. "Jeremy is  _sick_ , totally drugged up, of course he's gonna act weird. It doesn't mean anything!" 

He'd come to drop off Jeremy's homework since his dad had a late meeting. Truth be told, he was glad that Mr. Heere asked him to bring it down; he'd been missing Jeremy, since he'd been home sick for a few days. 

Michael felt bad for him, but he also thought that sick Jeremy was a little bit adorable. He had awful bedhead, and he could hardly keep his eyelids from fluttering with exhaustion, but his voice was soft and his words were candid, almost humorously so. It made Michael's dumb heart do flips in his chest. It _was_ kinda funny, though, the softness in his tone and his choice of phrase.

 Just then, a sudden thought struck him, and Michael almost laughed.

 "Jesus - is this what we're like when we're high?" He blinked incredulously and shook his head, walking down the hall towards the bathroom. He pulled open the cabinet a dumped two ibuprofen pills into his hand. On a whim, he also grabbed a washcloth and ran it under some cool tap water. Then he headed back for Jeremy's room.

Jeremy was blinking tiredly at the ceiling when Michael came back. He seemed measurably more awake now than he had before, which was encouraging. 

He heard Michael close the door and looked over, a smile breaking out over his face. 

"You're here! Or am I dreaming still?" he mumbled, eyelashes fluttering. 

Michael stifled a laugh. Jeremy was super sick, so he knew he shouldn't laugh, but he couldn't help it. He was just acting so adorably spacey, Michael couldn't resist. 

"I'm here," he answered, pausing next next to Jeremy's bed. Jeremy had a dopey smile on his face, and it seemed like he was about to fall asleep again at any moment. Michael was suddenly aware of the pills in his hand - they were starting to stick to his palm. He set the washcloth down on the dresser to find something that Jeremy could take his pills with. He scanned the room and spotted a glass of water on Jeremy's desk. 

When he went to grab the water, he saw the massive pile of homework sitting next to it. 

"Oh, right," he mumbled, slinging his bag off of his back. After rummaging through it for a moment, he pulled out the paper clipped stack of work and added it to the pile. He rolled his eyes at the amount of homework sitting there - it was a hefty pile.

"You haven't done any of it yet, have you?" Michael asked, a teasing note in his voice. 

"Yes I have," Jeremy pouted. 

Michael raised one eyebrow at him.

"Okay, maybe not really," Jeremy ceded. 

Michael let out a full laugh, and Jeremy giggled, too -  _god_ , Michael loved Jeremy's laugh. 

"Here," Michael said, handing Jeremy the glass. "These will help your fever," he added, dropping the pills into Jeremy's hand. 

Jeremy downed the pills, then drained the rest of the glass. "God, I didn't realize I was so thirsty," he mumbled, eyes closed. 

"I can get you some more water," Michael offered. Jeremy's opened his eyes and he looked at Michael, blue eyes glowing.

"Please?" he asked softly. 

"You got it, man," Michael said quickly. He could feel a slight heat rising in his face - the way that Jeremy was talking was so soft and open, it made Michael's stomach feel like he'd just gone down a huge hill on a rollercoaster. He needed a breather. 

He turned to go for the door, then remembered the washcloth. Turning back, he grabbed the cloth and folded it into quarters, then said, "I'm gonna put this on your forehead, okay? It should help." 

He laid the damp cloth softly on Jeremy's head and Jeremy shivered. 

"Thanks," he whispered, smiling. 

Michael really needed to catch his breath, his traitorous heart pounding out a beat in his chest that he couldn't stop. He mumbled a quick "no problem" and headed for the door, almost tripping over his feet on the way out. Once he was in the hall, he stopped and took a deep breath. 

After taking a minute to calm down his heart rate, he padded downstairs and realized that in his rush from the room, he'd left the glass in Jeremy's room. 

Michael rolled his eyes at himself. He was such a dork sometimes - and being around Jeremy always brought out the dorkiest part of him. 

With a slight sigh, he reached into the cupboard and grabbed a clean glass. He didn't even need to think about it - being in Jeremy's house felt natural to him, he knew it like the back of his hand. He absentmindedly brought it over to the fridge and filled it with cold water, careful not to spill. 

As he was about to go upstairs, he realized that Jeremy was probably hungry. Michael set down the glass and walked over to the cabinet, pulling open the door. He scanned the shelves for anything that might be good for someone who was sick.

His eyes landed on the box of saltines on the top shelf. He reached up and grabbed them, setting them on the counter. He turned around and grabbed a bowl, dumping some crackers out into it. He twisted up the plastic sleeve to keep the crackers fresh, but kept them out in case Jeremy wanted more later. 

He grabbed the bowl and the cup and headed back upstairs, watching to make sure the water didn't spill as he walked up. He moved softly down the hallway and pushed open Jeremy's door gently. 

Jeremy turned his head and looked as Michael as he walked in. 

"Michael!" he exclaimed, face lighting up. "It's so good to see you!"

Michael laughed, but felt his heart glow. He love hearing Jeremy say his name, loved seeing him smile like that - it was a special kind of smile that he reserved for Michael, a full, real grin that lit up his features and made Michael's insides melt. 

He wanted to say a million things, like how his heart was about to burst out of his chest or how much he loved Jeremy's smile, but he swallowed the words down. He'd been swallowing them down for years - it was practically second nature 

Instead, he grinned and said, "Wow, your fever really  _is_  bad." 

Michael set the bowl and the glass on Jeremy's dresser, then extended a hand to his friend to help him sit up. Jeremy took it gratefully and righted himself, stretching his back as he sat up. The washcloth fell off of Jeremy's forehead and onto the bed with a damp thud. Jeremy didn't notice, so Michael suppressed his laughter and picked it up, setting it back on the dresser.

"I got you that water," he said, holding the glass out to Jeremy. He mentally smacked himself - duh, he'd gotten the water, it was right there!

Jeremy didn't notice his redundant announcement, accepting the glass with a grateful smile. He took two big gulps, then let out a contented sigh. 

"God, I could kiss you, Michael," Jeremy mumbled, taking another drink. "I was so thirsty..."

Michael felt his face heat up as Jeremy took another swig. He let out an uncomfortable laugh. 

"No problem, brude - I mean, bro - dude?—" he cut off awkwardly, voice higher than usual. He thanked whatever higher powers there was for the fact that blushing didn't show up much on him, otherwise he was sure he'd be a red as a tomato. 

After a pause that dragged on just long enough to start to feel awkward to Michael, he cleared his throat to break the silence.

"I, uh, brought you some crackers too, in case you were hungry," he said lamely, gesturing to the bowl on the dresser. 

Jeremy turned to look at the bowl, then snagged a cracker and stuffed it into his mouth. 

"Thanks, dude," he said with his mouth full. He grabbed a second one, then finished his glass of water. 

Apparently sated, he snuggled back under his blanket, breathing a deep sigh of contentment. 

"Want me to get you some more water?" Michael said quietly. 

"Please?" Jeremy implored, looking up at Michael through heavily lidded eyes.

"You got it," Michael replied, grabbing the glass. His heart was threatening to explode in his chest again, and he was glad for a reason to get out of the room. As an afterthought, he grabbed the washcloth too, then ducked out into the hall.

He walked downstairs and filled the glass, dousing the washcloth anew with cold water. He headed back upstairs and listened at the door for a moment. He heard nothing, so he quietly pushed open the door.

Jeremy was fast asleep, it seemed. His breathing was even and low, his lips parted slightly in rest. 

Michael gently set the cup down on the dresser, watching to make sure Jeremy didn't wake up. His hair was falling into his eyes, the soft brown curls messy from spending days in bed. Michael's fingers itches to brush it out of the way, but....

"Jeremy," he whispered, cautiously. 

"Jeremy!" he repeated, slightly louder. 

There was no response, so Michael figured he'd risk it. 

Gently, he pushed Jeremy's hair out of his face. His fingers ghosted over Jeremy's forehead, tucking the hair up and out of the way. Jeremy let out a soft sound and Michael froze, but Jeremy didn't wake. 

Michael exhaled and drew his hand away - that was close. He folded the washcloth again and laid it over Jeremy's forehead gently. 

Jeremy's eyes fluttered open at the cool dampness and he looked at Michael.

"Thanks, Mikey," he mumbled, barely awake. Michael's heart clenched at the nickname, but he just smiled and said, "Of course, Jer."

Jeremy was nearly asleep again, so Michael decided he should take that as his cue to leave. He stretched out his shoulders and turned towards the door, stealing one last glance at Jeremy's adorable sleepy face. As he was about to walk away, he felt Jeremy reach out and grab his wrist. 

Michael turned back, concerned and was met with blue eyes staring right at him. Jeremy's hand was clammy, his slim fingers locked loosely around Michael's wrist. 

"Stay?" he asked softly. His eyes were wide, brows drawn slightly. 

Michael felt like his heart would burst. 

"Of course," he said, voice breaking, and Jeremy smiled at him.

 Michael took a step closer to the bed and Jeremy loosened his hold on Michael's wrist. He snuggled back into the blanket, but kept his hand on Michael's. 

He looked adorable, Michael thought, his brown locks splayed across his pillow, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly open. Michael's chest felt like a thousand tiny suns were glowing inside, threatening to shine through. 

"I'll always stay for you," he mumbled, but Jeremy was already asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays to @love-your-squip on tumblr - hope you like your gift!


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